Lady Luck had shined on MyQuiche for the second time in a week—or was it his ability to spot the tactical moment to make his resources tell?
“Good Gold. Man, that was a close call,” said Bullion, wiping the sweat away from his brow.
“Yes, you can say that again.”
“What a humdinger,” answered Bullion.
“Yes, it was certainly a rumble in the jungle.”
Bullion eyed Gold suspiciously like he had been eavesdropping on him again.
“That’s a bit of a cliché,” said Bullion.
“No more than humdinger,” answered Gold.
“How long are you staying for drinks in the boardroom?”
“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it,” answered Gold.
“Why? What about you?”
“No reason,” said Bullion. “I’ve been on the water since yesterday morning, and, to be truthful, I want to get home and in my bed. I’m feeling a little tired after this one.”
“It wasn’t that bad. David. We played within our capabilities, and the result was always ours for the taking. I think MyQuiche had their number—he certainly knew when to get The Lightbulb warmed up, and put him on.”
“I’m more bothered about the chin wag in the boardroom than the game. The game’s gone. We won that’s not the problem. I’m worried about being tapped up for some bugs or a blank Gregory by their boracic chairman.”
“You’re as daft as a brush. Why would he do that?” asked Gold.
“He had a pint pot passed around the last time for the cakes. Have you not been following the plight of this club lately? Every week, the board steps down and another one takes their place. The Bacardi breezer in charge at the moment only resigned a couple of years ago, now he’s back as king rat again. You know my feelings on incompetence and waste. I don’t think I can go in there tonight. I might say something we both will regret. No, Dee, it’s best I head straight home. Tell them I’m sorry, but I’m under the weather.”
“That’s ridiculous. What ticks in that noggin of yours?”
Bullion shrugged his shoulders and winked. “Come on, you owe me after Wednesday night. Your shift, Goldie.”
“David, this is absurd. Why would he try and hit you up for a loan? You are a daft dog sometimes.”
“Well, I’m off. And tell them thanks for the game, and we’ll see them in ten days,” Bullion said, heading down the steps and waving two fingers at Gold. “I owe you that one, and here’s another for good luck. Bye.”
“Wait,” Gold called. “When are you back at the club? Will you be in on Friday?”
His partner looked around and smiled. “Maybe.” He took a few more steps. “I’ll definitely be there on Saturday for the Barnzli visit. Toodooloo.”
MyQuiche was still trying to get a few more deals done. One particular player was the Bhoys out-of-favour centre half Balbo Baldi. He liked the player when he was his manager in Scotland and wanted to take him south for Bitominge’s campaign back to the Premier League. As far as MyQuiche was concerned, the player was his. All he had to do was get the board to back his decision, and job done.
That was until Balbo wanted a severance package for his loyalty, or something like that. MyQuiche didn’t quite understand it all and wasn’t sure how to explain it, other than he was a bloody good player once upon a time and would plug that gap in the middle of the back four.
“Morning, Alsex. How you doing?” asked Bullion.
“Morning, Boss.”
“What you got cooking?” he asked MyQuiche.
“Erm… I have the numbers for Balbo.”
“And?”
“He wants 30K a week, but it’s a free so no up front cost. You could call it a wash.”
“How much? He wants more than The Lightbulb a week?”
“Erm… well… I guess…”
“Have we mentioned a smaller weekly wage with the chance of regular football?”
MyQuiche was silent on the other end of the phone. It was Friday morning, and he was at the training ground watching his charges go through their pace’s stretching and limber up for the next match on Saturday.
“Well, speak up, Alsex. I asked you a question.”
MyQuiche didn’t respond. It was a question that was only going to get one answer.
“Does this young man not know my weakness is for lightbulbs and lightbulbs only?”
“I don’t think he does, Boss. No”
“Well, what about the club? Is there any give there? Can they meet us a third of the way on his wages for the first year?” asked Bullion concerned the deal would fail.
“No, Boss. My contacts have said the Bhoys have shot their wad on this one, and he can rot in the reserves as far as they are concerned. Too much has gone on, and it can’t be repaired.”
“Well, that sounds like an opportunity to me,” answered Bullion.
“Boss, if you can make that happen, then you are a better man than me,” said MyQuiche.
“I’m already a better man than you Alsex. I’m your boss.”
“Right, Boss, that you are. Thanks for the effort. I have to get off now as the lads are practicing defending set pieces, and it doesn’t look good.”
“Go on then, and as they say on the tube, mind the gap.”
MyQuiche put the phone, down resigned to the fact he was going to have to go with what he’s got for the season.
Bullion waited for the tea lady to come around before he went down on the pitch for a knock about.
Gold came in. “HELLO, DAVID. MORNING.”
“Morning, Dee. Have you seen Gladys?”
“No, I’ve just been on the phone with Peter Lowell from Seltik, and he informs me you called and told him we wouldn’t be pursuing The Hobbit? Is this how you plan to proceed with transfer matters?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with that? His name is Balbo, and he’s not a hobbit. Seltik have many other good players that we might be interested in, and how about consulting me as your partner first before making those decisions?”
“What’s to decide? He wants 30K a week. Nobody gets that. I’m not breaking the bank for a jumped up 500-year-old, 4-foot-tall bachelor that does the odd bit of tea leafing. I don’t want that type of player down at my club. I don’t care how much Alsex wants him.”
“David, it’s not Bilbo. It’s Balbo. The one from Guinea who’s six-three and won five Scottish titles, three Scottish cups, two Scottish league cups, and one Ufa cup runners-up medal, and a partridge in a pear tree.”
Bullion looked at Gold. “Well, I’m not paying that kind of money. We’re already underwater and will run a loss for this year.”
“David, we knew that going into the season.”
“Well, I won’t put the club in more financial harm by signing a tea guzzling, timid, easily flustered bumbler who goes missing all too quickly.”
Gold shook his head again. “How many more times do I have to say it? It’s not Bilbo!”
Bitominge City 2 Barnzli 0
Bitominge secured their best start to a league campaign in eleven years by beating the Tikes at The Quattro Fianco Stadium. Barnzli, on the other hand, after this result, have made their worst start to a season in twenty-two years. They have a proud record of having spent more seasons in the second tier of English football than any other team. Despite all this negativity, a fair few reds turned up for the day out and were in hopeful voice until the thirteenth minute when, guess whom popped up to head home his third goal in as many matches. It could have been so different if Whoarya’s curler had gone in with The Mack, well beaten instead of rocketing off the crossbar.
The heavily tattooed Shagger copied The Lightbulb in losing his marker and made it 2-0 just on the stroke of halftime to officially end this contest. The result left Barnzli rooted firmly to the bottom of the table and gave MyQuiche’s counterpart much to fret over. The Lightbulb was finally rewarded with his first start in Bitominge colours, much to Bullion’s
satisfaction.
The Tikes started brightly with Whoarya’s free kick almost causing an early upset and as full of endeavour as they were, they didn’t possess the cutting edge of their rivals.
After the early scare, the Blues soon settled into their stride and Enter McDragon’s overhead kick and The Lightbulb’s close range header both narrowly missed their target. Barnzli’s keeper Remington had to be vigilant to tip Detective Parnaby’s effort around the post and it was only a matter of time before the home side made that vital breakthrough. From a resulting corner, the ball was poorly cleared and whipped back in to find the criminally free Lightbulb alone in the six yards box to head home.
Bitominge pressed on, and Enter McDragon caused complete disorder down the left wing, beating several players, only to miss from 12 yards. This was a wake up call for the South Yorkshire men to come to the party with Frankie and the little Spaniard spraying some delightful balls across the pitch. Unfortunately, it was short-lived as Remington failed to deal with a casual Oscar Madison cross, and Shagger was on hand to head home at the far toast.
With nothing to lose, the Barnzli boss threw caution to the wind and replaced a defender with an attacker for the start of the second half. Both sides contributed to an entertaining match with shots flying in from all directions. The Reds had one good chance towards the end to get back into it with Devonie perfectly placed to ram home, but his eagerness got the better of him, and he blasted high over the bar.
The miss allowed the Blues to gain more confidence and—but for some fine shot stopping by Remington in goal—the score could have been more inflicting.
Bitominge City Ratings:
The Mack 6
Inspector Parnaby 7 (Temp Service 6)
Break A Leg 7
Ridgeback 6
Sweet Stout 6
The Celeb 6
The Shithouse 7
Quincy MD 7
Enter McDragon 6
Shagger 7 (How Many Clubs 6)
The Lightbulb 8 (Cheffcokhead 5)
Attendance: 174,130.
“Well, I say Goldie, how good was that? Best performance by far this year, eh?” said Bullion.
“Yes, thoroughly enjoyable, a great advert for football.”
“I can’t believe more didn’t turn up to watch! They don’t know what they’re missing. I’ve got a good mind to shock them all and put a full page advert in the paper with the names of the missing.”
“Not again, David. That’s not going to bring the AWOLs back, is it?”
“Right, if you don’t agree with me, then I’m off.”
“What? Where are you going now?” asked Gold.
“Boating for the week on the Broads and berth up at Nore Itch station and limo it to the ground.”
“How long have you had this planned?” asked Gold.
“Friday, after the Saints game, me and Ingot had such a good time bobbing up and down on the Solent. We decided to do it again.”
“Do what again?”
Bullion raised his voice. “Boating, Dee. Some people like to get out on the waves and do the real thing—not sit in a tub and do it.”
“You’re not all there, are you man?” said Gold.
“I will be there all week so you might want to get used to the fact. While you’re here, I’ll be chugging along the Yare drinking Pimm’s with Ingot.”
“You two are way too pally for him just to be your chauffeur,” said Gold angrily.
“Excuse me, just because I have staff that like me as a person and not because of who I am and want to hang out with me, you have to make a sly dig. You’re pathetic Dee really pathetic. What’s wrong with two friends spending time together on a boat?”
“For a week?” Gold puffed out his chest. “You do what you want, David, but I have a club to run. Good day to you, sir.”
Bullion didn’t care about Gold’s reaction. He knew he’d be over it come match day, so what the hell. He focused on the bigger picture of the sightseeing and the shopping Nore Itch had to offer.
“I can’t wait. I love Nore Itch—what a lovely city, swathed in a majestic, historic, quaint charm. Oh! To own a club like that. Penny for your thoughts David,” he said to himself, as he made his way out to the car park and Ingot.
He was quite pleased with his decision to spend the week in Norfolk. He hadn’t been there since his roaring college days and was excited about seeing the spectacular seventeenth century Blickling Hall and getting lost in its secret garden again.
There was also the Bure Valley railway from his childhood. He’d like to do that again. He remembered it being fun because of its narrow gauge track and steam engine. There was the Gunton Park Sawmill, the castle, and then, how could he forget the Cathedral and Cow Tower? It would be a good trip. If it wasn’t enough, there was also the shopping—some of the best in the country. The city boasts the eighth most prosperous economy and shopping destination. It has an ancient market where he could get his blue vein cheese fresh nearly every day of the week. He rubbed his hands together in glee. “I will have a smashing time.”
Bullion was keen on painting and had taken several classes as a young adult. He studied at the Nore Itch School of Painters and was heavily guided by the achievements of seventeenth century hinterland painters like Aelbert Coyi, Jacob Van Gouw and the Van Der Elst twins.
Bullion’s big thing about art was the underlying connection between the roots of existence He had tried to let Gold into his world with his unveiling of a lithograph of a “Landscape of a Footbridge” painting by Jacob van Ruisdael in his office last year and was unhinged by Gold’s uncouth reaction. Gold didn’t understand what all the fuss was about—it was just a painting with a shaggy green hue. It could be anywhere in the scrub of Jamaica, something he grew up with. To Bullion, it was the master brush stroke as the conflict was in the dark grey sky. Yes look at the dense mass but what about the energy of the sky. The flat hinterland, I think not. Thank God he wasn’t taking him along. How could he introduce him to his friends at the Nore Itch and Districts Visiting Society, a society he was a proud member of? The intense scrutiny of the cultured offspring of Charles Suckling Gilmen, founder of the society, would have been too much to take.
If he were going to denigrate van Ruisdael how would the likes of the sleepy John Crome and Joseph Stannard have faired?
Bullion wanted to dream a little within the waterways of the Broads, the winding marshland and tangled wetlands that stretched the horizon of his memory. This was where he needed to be—not some testosterone-filled stadium with half-eaten pies. He wanted to get his hands on a good tiller, and he knew exactly which half-rigger he had in mind.
It was Bluff Head built seventy-five years ago before the Second World War. Solid mahogany throughout and polished till you could see your face in it. He phoned Ingot to let him know he was on his way out early.
“Ingot I’m coming out front right now.”
“Very good, Boss.”
“And once we are on our way home, I want you to call and book a sailor for the Broads this week.”
“Very good, Boss. Do you want a classic sloop-rigger?”
Bullion paused for a moment. He liked the thought of the extra cabin space. “Yes that would be splendid.”
It had been a good start to the season, and—although the team was inconsistent blowing hot and cold—the results were all that really mattered.
“Leaving already?” asked the Barnzli chairman.
“Erm… yes,” answered the surprised Bullion. “One of my prized snails has gone down with stable slime. The vet said it’s very frothy.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that. Well, maybe next time David. And congratulations on the win.”
“Yes, thanks,” answered Bullion, cutting and running and hopping into his waiting limo.
“Good job Ingot, now let’s floor it out of here.”
“Very good, Boss. I made your call for the yacht already, and it seems they’ve got a major Anglo-Dutch racing festival thi
s week. No yachts available on the Broads. In fact, I took the liberty of booking a 4 Berth Swan Rider as I was informed it was the last vessel on hand.”
“Darn. That puts a damp squid on things. There’s nothing else?”
“No, Boss.”
“Well, I guess it will have to do. At least it will have all the mod cons like a hair-dryer, iron, toaster… any other goodies?”
“Yes, Boss. It even has a screen de-mister and windscreen wipers and a vacuum cleaner, his and hers toilets… it’s got the lot.”
“Sounds great. Well done, Ingot. Anything to be on the water away from this at the present will be a blessing.”
“You sound like you’re not enjoying it anymore Boss,” asked Ingot.
“No it’s gone, I’ve lost that loving feeling.”
“That loving feeling?”
“That loving feeling, Ingot. It’s gone, gone, gone whoa, whoa.”
“Sorry to hear that, Boss.”
“It all went tits up a few years ago, and now with the sale not going through, it’s the final straw. I’ve had it up to here,” he answered.
“I will not have people run me down when I’ve done my best.”
“No, Boss, I don’t blame you. I would have lashed out a long time ago. Still, a week away on the water won’t do any harm and might even change your view,” said Ingot, thoughtfully.
“Let’s hope so. When can we pick her up?”
“Whenever. It’s a Saturday to Saturday rental.”
“Oh, right. What size is the girl?”
“Forty-two feet of hulking modern beauty, chugging a happy diesel song.”
“I must admit, I do like diesel,” said Bullion. “How about we pick her up tomorrow morning after a light, early breakfast, about seven?”
“Very good, Boss,” answered Ingot.
Football Fiction Page 8
